


Decorum was required

by wifebeast__s



Series: To go boldly [4]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy days, F/M, Mostly Implied Sexual Content, Relationship Growth, Spuhura, Spyota, on second thought there is some explicit stuff but not like super explicit, yes i did read the book just for the spyota excerpts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 04:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10563708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wifebeast__s/pseuds/wifebeast__s
Summary: “After the night they had spent together, it was difficult not to use her first name when speaking to her, but decorum was required.” - The Assassination Game, Alan Gratz





	

**Author's Note:**

> This line was just BEGGING for more explanation.

First she was “Cadet Uhura, N.” A name on a roster, in a list of other names that Spock knew he would soon be able to put a face to. A name that perhaps stuck out, as she was known to be one of the top students in the Xenolinguistics program, if not the lead. He would not have been able to pick her out of the crowd of students trickling in on the first day of class, but he wasn’t surprised to learn that the aesthetically pleasing young woman who was the first to arrive and sat in the front, with a padd placed carefully in the center of her writing area, was her.

She asked questions the first day, probing inquiries about the reading assignments and where they might find additional resources. He asked her to come see him in his office for a personalized list of recommendations and silenced a young male cadet’s leering chuckle with a withering look. Decorum was always required in Spock’s class.

Cadet Uhura accepted his invitation, appearing in the door of his office in the late afternoon, hands behind her back, as she waited patiently to be invited in. He appreciated her politeness and invited her in with a simple, “Cadet. Welcome.”

She smiled, and he was sure it was just the afternoon sun that lit up her face like that, “Thank you, Commander.”

“While I understand that you are an accomplished linguist and diligent student, I would like to ensure that you will have time to complete the reading I have already assigned. Many of the readings are more advanced than you might be accustomed to, and I would be remiss in giving you more work to do.”

Spock was still not adept at reading a human’s facial features, but he noticed that her eyes changed. Slightly narrowed, but still she smiled.

“Commander,” she began, taking a step inside his office and bringing her hands in front of her, “I have already completed the first three reading assignments. If you believe that those readings are sufficient for me to best comprehend the ways in which -”

He had not intended to interrupt her, but his shock got the better of him, “You completed the first readings?”

“Yes, sir. Over the break. Your syllabus is available,” she trailed off, looking down, her eyes scanning the ground, “I found it, anyway.”

“Fascinating.”

She looked up again and said nothing further, though her eyes fell on the list he had been compiling.

“Very well, Cadet. I believe you will find these texts sufficient to answer any lingering questions or expand on some of the ideas we will be discussing.”

She stepped closer, and he held out the filmplast with the list to her. She accepted it and smiled, “Thank you, Commander.”

“You are welcome, Cadet.”

She was still Cadet Uhura, but she was no longer just a name on a roster.

*    *    *

It was natural that, through the course of a semester, Spock would drop the ‘cadet’ before a student’s name when addressing them in class, and it was no different with Uhura. It was not unusual, and therefore it was logical and not an impropriety to do so.

Uhura was top of the class. Uhura was an intelligent and curious student who challenged her peers and Spock himself during their sessions. Uhura was compassionate, attuned to even the most minute details of the languages she spoke, and skilled at communicating - not only in learning vocabulary or syntax, but using them to truly understand and empathize.

She arrived early to his class, and he assumed to all others, prepared with comments and questions. She completed her work on time, often before it was due. He had seen, on more than one occasion, her assisting other students when they struggled with their own studies. 

Uhura spoke Vulcan. Fluently and, in a strictly objective way, beautifully.

“You would tell me if I mispronounced a word.”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want to impose, but I also don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

“I do not believe you are capable of such. Your pronunciation was, as expected, impeccable.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

She ended every conversation the same way - a broad smile and _thank you, Commander_.

Uhura stopped inside the door of his office on the days she came to visit. Visits that became more frequent, as the semester continued. Visits that became longer, less formal, though never inappropriate. She was, at all times, the epitome of decorum.

*    *    * 

As expected, she completed his course as his highest performing student. Her visits did not cease after the semester, but they did change. So too did the terms of their engagements. In circumstances that were appropriate, he was simply Spock, and she became Nyota.

Nyota was warm and patient, allowing him the space to be half Vulcan and half Human. Outside of the Academy, she dressed in soft colors and what he imagined were soft fabrics, though he didn’t touch them, but he noticed how they swayed more than her uniform did. She didn’t smile more out of uniform, but it was less contained, more open. Or maybe that wasn’t it. He found himself, strangely, at a loss for words to describe the change.

He learned over time that other people - cadets, instructors - didn’t know her as Nyota. It seemed that, at least at the Academy, he was the only one who knew her first name. That was why, he told himself, he spoke it so softly, barely above a whisper, out of respect for her. It wasn’t to keep it to himself. It wasn’t to experience the feeling of saying it, knowing that no other person had been given that gift.

“Nyota,” he said, soft enough to keep his secret, loud enough to get her attention.

She stopped and looked over, smile warm, eyes curious, “Yes, Spock?”

“Thank you,” he murmured after a moment, “for the enjoyable evening.”

She arched an eyebrow, an expression he was certain she was familiar with from his own visage, “Is the evening over?”

He felt his lips tug up just slightly, as he swept his eyes over the sky, darkening but not yet dark, “I suppose it is not.”

“As I was saying earlier,” she continued, striding slowly down the street.

Despite the secret they shared, despite the intimacy of using her name, a foot of empty space hung between them. Her name was enough. For now, it was enough, and anything more would be inappropriate.

*    *    *

Manners were important beyond the public eye, but propriety less so, especially with her lips on his, with the curve of her hip under his hand. As expected, her civilian clothing was softer than her uniform; he let the cloth slide between his fingers, and as he had his own uniform, he now had empirical evidence to support his hypothesis.

That did not matter, either, though, when she stepped into him, pressing herself against his chest, her fingertips pressing into the skin of his neck, his scalp. 

Deportment might have recommended his hands not slip so low, fingertips scraping at the skin of her thighs not covered in the soft skirt. It might have suggested, politely, that he stop her own hands from sliding under his shirt, up his stomach, his chest, that they stop their unhurried but obvious movement toward his bedroom.

Perhaps etiquette would not condone his unclasping her bra under her shirt, the kisses he started trailing over her skin, starting at her jaw, down her neck, tugging on her shirt to reveal the dip of her clavicle. It would not have liked the way he dragged his tongue along the skin covering the bone. It would not have approved of the breathy moan that escaped her.

There was no formality in the way they stripped their clothes away, the last barriers between them. There was no gentility in the way he drew her close to him, relishing the way her skin felt against his, just as he guided her down onto his bed, pressed against her, _into_ her.

The words she whispered against his shoulder were not ones she would use in polite society, and his responses were no more so.

Decorum was the last thing on his mind when she nodded, agreeing to his request to feel her mind, when his fingers landed on her temple, when their minds touched, and her pleasure became his, and his became hers. It wasn’t on his mind the first time. Nor the second. Nor the third.

It wasn’t a concern when the first rays of the morning sun were visible outside his window, and she slept next to him, a sheet providing some semblance of what might be called decency. Though with his fingers tracing the skin of her shoulder, he wondered at the word, at how strange it sounded now and certainly less important than it was made out to be.

It wasn’t a concern until their uniforms were once again donned, like costumes they wore to maintain their secret, pseudonyms masking their true identities. It wasn’t a concern until Spock realized that his carefully compartmentalized world suddenly had a radical - Nyota, who was Uhura, who was _Cadet_ Uhura, and within him they were one and the same.

They were in uniform. 

“Cadet Uhura,” he began.


End file.
